The Lady Chapel (33 page)

"Hmpf. Probably hopes for money from me. What about Ridley's condition? The stomach complaint? The wasting away?"

Owen had prepared an answer that would not incriminate Cecilia Ridley. Both Owen and Lucie felt Cecilia's own remorse was punishment enough. "I doubt that Ridley's complaint had anything to do with the murders. Unless it was his own feeling of guilt."

"Why was Will Crounce murdered first?"

"Wirthir thinks that the murderer might have mistakenly believed that Crounce was involved. But he really does not know. It appears that Crounce knew nothing of the betrayal. Indeed, knew nothing of Aldborough's business."

"And you say the de Melton boy was injured?"

Owen told Thoresby about Jasper's two encounters with Kate Cooper.

"It sounds to me as if the second attack and the death of the young man happened under your ineffective protection, Archer. So how effective do you think mine would have been?"

"You can be certain that Lucie and I feel the burden of guilt."

Thoresby got up, stood in front of the fire, hands clasped behind

him, head bowed. "I cannot fault you, Archer. You should not blame yourselves. I am merely disappointed. It sounds more and more as if Ridley's gift was conscience money. Blood money. I cannot accept it for my Lady Chapel."

"To my mind, all money given for charity or to the Church is in some way conscience money, Your Grace. What else would motivate merchants, who work so hard to accumulate wealth, to give it away?"

"In that sense, I agree with you. But it sounds to me as if Ridley found it far too easy to forgive himself for acquiring money at another's expense. Or using others to get himself out of trouble."

"He offered you the money in good faith. You accepted it. No matter how he acquired the money, he believed he was making amends by offering the money to the Church, for God's house--at least partial amends. Is that not enough for you?"

Thoresby stared at Owen for a long while before he said, "Let us see this matter to its conclusion if possible, Archer. That is all I ask of you. I do not ask for your counsel, excellent as it may be." He played with his ring, thinking. "What of Ridley's son and heir? Matthew, is it not?"

"He is in Calais, managing the business."

"Curious that he would not come howling back to see that his father's murderer is caught. Would you be so indifferent?"

"No."

"Most unnatural."

"I confess, I had not given Matthew Ridley much thought."

"Perhaps you should have."

As Owen rose to take his leave, Thoresby held up a hand. "Aldborough. Do you think I might impose upon this Martin Wirthir to deliver a letter to the Dean of Ripon?"

Owen shrugged. "I will ask him. Ripon is close enough to Aldborough."

"Excellent. Michaelo will bring the letter to Coats's house within the hour."

Owen snarled at Michaelo as he passed him on the way out. His conversation with the Archbishop had left the unpleasant taste of ashes in Owen's mouth. How unlike the Archbishop's almost sympathetic behavior before he left for the Christmas court. Something

must have happened to cause Thoresby's early return and his present mood. Something that put Thoresby out of humor and made him think of his mortality. That made Owen smile.

After the brief nones service, Brother Henry returned to the infirmary to give Brother Wulfstan a chance to nap. It was a dreary afternoon with a chill rain falling, and the infirmary was dark. But it should not be quite so dark. Henry was uneasy as he stepped inside. Wulfstan should have lamps set around his worktable or a reading lamp near his chair. Henry found the old Infirmarian nodding in the chair beside Jasper's cot. He lit a lamp in haste to check the boy. Mercifully, Jasper slept. Henry said a prayer of thanksgiving.

But he could see that their plan to protect Jasper would not work without help.

"We must tell Abbot Campian about our problem, Brother Wulfstan. We need assistance. You must admit that you cannot stay awake as long as you must. Perhaps our Abbot would allow us a novice to share watches with me."

Wulfstan rubbed his eyes, looking sheepish. "You are right, Henry. Arrogance is my sin. I refuse to admit that I cannot protect the boy myself. But I shall not compound the sin by ignoring your good advice. I shall go to Abbot Campian at once."

The Abbot sat reading near the fire in his hall, a candle on the table beside him. When he noticed Wulfstan, he closed his book and set it aside. "Come. Sit by me, old friend."

Wulfstan settled himself with pleasure close to the fire. Though the arcade had protected him from the brunt of the storm, his toes were chilled by the damp walk from the infirmary. "God go with you, my Abbot." Wulfstan kissed the Abbot's proffered hand.

Abbot Campian smiled, folded his long-fingered hands in his lap. "Now, my old friend, are you at last going to tell me what you and Brother Henry have been up to in the infirmary?"

Wulfstan was startled. "How did you know?"

"For six days I have seen but one or the other of you, never both together, at meals and services. Do you conduct some experiment that must be watched, I wondered."

"Oh, no, nothing of the sort, no. It is the boy. Jasper de Melton. You know the boy's history? Why he is here?"

Campian nodded.

"Well it seemed to me that a certain guest, he told me his name was John--the one who burned his hand on Christmas Eve--he was too interested in the boy. Kept returning to visit him. So Henry and I set up a watch."

Abbot Campian frowned. "John? Who burned his hand? I am not quite-- Oh. Would he have a bandage around the palm of the hand? Just a strip of cloth?"

"That would be him."

"Well now, you will be happy you have at last come to me. You are rid of him. I bid him a safe journey just after the midday meal. A woman came for him. They went off on fine horses. Very fine horses. But why do you call him John?"

"That is the name he gave me."

"How strange. I cannot think why he would lie to you. Unless he lied to me? The name he gave me was Paul." The Abbot frowned down at his white hands. He did not like disorder at St. Mary's. "I think we must say a prayer of thanksgiving that he has left the Abbey."

Martin and Ambrose stopped in a small, modest inn at Alne for the night. It had been a cold, wet ride, and they were grateful for the fire and hot food. Especially the excellent ale. As Martin unpacked his saddlebag, he noted the name on the letter he carried for the Archbishop.

"Why, what a piece of luck, Ambrose. It's going to Paul Scorby, the husband of Anna Ridley. The Scorby land is this side of Ripon."

Ambrose rubbed a soothing lotion on his hands and pulled on gloves. The long, cold, wet ride and the stiff grip on the reins could wreak havoc on a musician's hands. "How do you know these Scorbys? More former employers?" His tone was biting.

"Yes. Are you going to hold all of this against me forever?"

"Would I be here if I were?"

"I can hear the disapproval in your voice."

"It will pass. What is the point about the letter being addressed to this Scorby?"

"If we deliver it ourselves, we shorten our journey and perhaps he will know something of his father-in-law's affairs that will enlighten us. What do you think?"

"It seems there is everything to recommend it."

24/ Connections

Owen stopped to pay his respects to Abbot Campian before going to the infirmary. To Owen's surprise, Campian invited him to share a hot drink made with various herbs. "It calms the spirit quite remarkably," the Abbot promised.

"Is this one of Brother Wulfstan's remedies?"

"It is indeed. God blessed Wulfstan with a gift for combining the fruits of the earth to heal mankind. But you will never hear my old friend brag of it. He is as modest a man as I've ever known."

"Brother Wulfstan is one of the treasures of St. Mary's."

Abbot Campian smiled and nodded. "I understand His Grace is already returned from the Christmas court. Does that not strike you as odd?"

So that was why Campian was so friendly. Wanting information. "I was surprised to see him so soon."

"Does he return in good humor?"

"To be honest, he returned in a strange mood. But ours is not the sort of relationship that allows the questioning of such things. I have no idea what disturbs him."

"Pity. It is so helpful to subordinates to know the cause of any unusual moods. But in my travels I have had occasion to ride with John Thoresby to the Great Council, and I have found him to be a private man."

"No doubt he realizes that the eyes of the kingdom are upon him."

Campian inclined his head. "No doubt." He put down his cup and rose. "Now I must detain you no longer. You are a busy man, I know, and anxious to see how young Jasper mends."

Owen left the Abbot with a sense of relief. Although kind and much more a man of God than Thoresby, the Abbot watched the politics of York with an eagle eye. Owen always felt uncomfortable when he spoke with Campian, uncertain where the Abbot's questions led, but unable to circumvent them.

Brother Wulfstan greeted Owen warmly. "You will be so pleased when you see how Jasper improves." The old monk led Owen to the pallet where the boy lay staring at the ceiling. Jasper glanced over at his visitor, then back to the ceiling.

"Jasper! Have you no greeting for Captain Archer?"

The boy stared at the ceiling.

"Well, I cannot explain it," Wulfstan said, turning to Owen. "He has been so pleasant."

"Perhaps if we spoke alone."

Wulfstan nodded. "I have an errand that will not take long. You sit with the boy and chat."

Owen pulled a stool up beside Jasper and sat down. "As Captain of Archers, 1 found it advisable to tell someone why I was punishing them. It made the punishment more effective."

Jasper still stared at the ceiling.

"Why are you punishing me, Jasper?"

The boy frowned at the ceiling.

"It is punishment to ignore me like this. I thought we'd become friends. Comrades in arms."

"John told me why you were friendly to me."

"And you don't like the reason? If that's true, then John, God rest his soul, was mistaken. Because I've never known a young man who did not want to be liked. And that's certainly why we're all so worried about you and anxious to have you back with us."

"It's not because you like me. I'm to lure the murderers to you so you can catch them." Jasper still stared at the ceiling.

"Lure the-- Sweet Jesu, do you believe we would do that, Jasper? Lucie and I tried to keep your presence in our house secret. Poor

Tildy was scolded because she did not warn us that John had been coaxing you to go to your old lodgings."

"I wanted to go. And I didn't want Tildy to tell."

"If you had not gone there, you would not have met your tormentor."

"And John would be alive," Jasper said in a shaky voice.

"True, Jasper. Poor John. I cannot imagine why he was so set on your going there."

"She talked him into it. She was his sweetheart."

Kate Cooper---just as Tildy had suspected. "How do you know this, Jasper?"

"She said so."

"What else did she say?"

The boy shrugged.

"Please, Jasper. I want to find these people and stop them so you can be safe. Don't you see?"

"So I can go back on the street."

"No. I hope you come back to us."

The boy looked over at Owen. "Why would you want me back?"

"Because we miss you. All three of us."

"Really?"

"I have no reason to lie to you, Jasper. So--the sooner we unravel this knotty business, the sooner you can feel safe. What else did she tell you?"

"She said she hated them--Master Crounce and Master Ridley. As I should hate the men who killed Master Crounce, she said. I don't remember anything else. I was scared. Except she said Master Crounce meant to marry my mother." Jasper blinked and tears rolled down his pale cheeks.

"Did she say anything about the man she's working with?"

"Just that he wants me dead. That's why she wants to kill me."

"Is she tall, Jasper?"

He nodded. "For a woman. And she's strong."

"Think about her holding the knife, Jasper. How did she hold it?"

He lifted his right hand, as if holding a knife poised to stab, then shook his head and changed hands. "Like this. With her left hand."

Owen leaned down and hugged the boy. "Excellent. It is just as I thought. We know who she is, Jasper. We are partway there."

Wulfstan cleared his throat in the doorway. "I see you two have made up. I am glad. It is so distressing to part with a friend." He noticed Jasper wiping his eyes. "It is time to rest again, my son."

Owen stood up. "I will come back soon to see if you're ready to come home, Jasper."

Wulfstan moved a wooden screen beside Jasper's bed to block the light.

The two men went across the room to the worktable, where there was some light from a small window. Wulfstan motioned for Owen to sit close to him. "I don't want the boy to hear."

Owen sat down.

"I must confess that I almost failed you, Owen."

"You almost lost Jasper? Were his injuries that bad?"

"Not lost like that. There was a man, a guest in the Abbey. He was far too keen to speak with Jasper. Henry and I stood watch over the boy until the man left."

"Who was he?"

"Now, that's one of the odd things about him. He told me his name was John. He told Abbot Campian his name was Paul."

"Paul? Describe him to me."

Wulfstan shrugged. "Middle height. Brown hair, brown eyes. Not unpleasant looking, except that he had an air about him, pouting. As if the world were a constant disappointment. Otherwise nothing remarkable."

"Do you know anything about him?"

"He claimed his wife had gone to the nunnery. Which is why he needed burn salve from me, had none of his own."

"He'd burned himself? When?"

"Christmas Eve. Sometime during the day. Is it important?"

The day of the fire in Ambrose Coats's house. "It is all important, my friend. I think you speak of Paul Scorby. Though what he has to do with all this I cannot say." And yet--Cecilia had told Lucie that Paul Scorby and Kate Cooper were lovers. "I thank you heartily for keeping Jasper safe."